Smoke created a haze layer near the treetops, but, even at that height, the acrid scent still burned his nostrils. After setting his helmet on his seat, he dug into the side storage compartment, removed a black canvas daypack, and slung it over his shoulder. With a last glance around, he approached the stone wall surrounding Randall’s home and made short work of hoisting himself over it, dropping onto the other side. He paused, scanning the grounds and listening.
The crackling of burning trees created a soft roar. It wouldn’t be long until the fire reached him. He moved forward, but the heavy thump of helicopter rotors stopped him again. Lifting his gaze to the smoky sky, he searched for Brigit, coming up empty. Disappointment squeezed his lungs, but he told himself it was just as well. He had a job to finish.
When he reached the front door, he unzipped the daypack and pulled out his lock pick set. Less than thirty seconds and he was inside, shutting down the alarm system before it went off.
Done.
With time at a premium, he strode down the hallway to where the cook had caught him within less than a minute inside Randall’s office. Sara had told him Randall had a safe in there, although she had no idea where. He’d never let her be present while he “squared things away.”
After a quick check behind paintings and not finding anything, he ran his fingertips under the edges of the desk and along bookshelves, searching for hidden release switches. A few moments later, he found one. He pressed the button.
Click.
A panel between two bookcases receded and slid to the side, exposing a mid-size safe door with a combination keypad.
Carter dug in his daypack, brought out the tools of the safe-cracking trade, and went to work. He dusted the panel, revealing five keys that had oil from Randall’s fingertip on them. A six-digit combination meant one key was used twice. Chances were good he’d used something familiar like the last digits of a social security number or a birthday or some other date that held special meaning to him—Daddy Winters had used Randall’s birthday, which had made opening the safe easy but also disturbed him that the man would’ve used something so obvious.
Carter had compiled a list of possibilities, ranking them from the most to the least likely and emailed it to himself. He’d bet his bottom dollar Randall had chosen the day his trust came through. He reached for his phone to check which one matched the numbers he’d uncovered on the safe’s keypad.
Brrruummm-crack! Crash!
The floor shook, and the sound of glass shattering came from beyond the office. Earthquake? He hurried out into the hallway and stumbled to a stop. An immense cedar had invaded the house, its massive limbs making short work of the sheetrock and studs, the Italian tile flooring, and anything else in its path. Dark smoke danced around the tree while blazing fingers crawled along the ceiling.
Randall’s house burning to the ground? Karmic justice. But the fire severely limited his time.
He rushed to the safe where he checked the list on his phone. The numbers matched the date for Randall’s trust release. Carter tapped them in.
A red light flashed.
Okay, so if not the standard two-digit date format, maybe the month and year? As he tapped the first number, a beep sounded. He gritted his teeth. Crap. I’m locked out.
Most safes of this caliber had a safety mechanism. If the wrong code was used, it locked the user out for a certain amount of time. Checking the clock on his phone, he waited a couple minutes and tried again. When the safe didn’t beep, he finished typing in the sequence.
A red light flashed again.
Damn it. How long was he locked out this time? Five minutes? Fifteen?
Smoke billowed through the office door and loud roaring came with it. Yeah, he didn’t have luxury of waiting. Not with the house burning down around him.
Stepping back, he clicked a picture of the safe and texted his “last resort” contact. He hated to burn the favor, but considering the situation, he didn’t have much choice.
He held his phone to his ear. It rang once.
“’Sup, Repo?”
He grimaced at the woman’s cocky greeting. “TJ, I just sent you a picture.”
“Saw it.” She chuckled. “Man, you in some deep shit.”
So she recognizes the safe manufacturer. “I’m kind of in a time crunch here,” he gritted out. “Can you get me in or not?”
Clicking sounded over the line, and he imagined TJ’s black-polished fingernails pecking the keys of her laptop.
“Hmm.” She clucked her tongue.
“What?”
“Gimme a sec. I gotta go to the source.”
Carter packed up his gear. Going to the source meant TJ was hacking the safe company site.
Ten minutes passed. Flames crept along crown molding, charring the deep-hued cherrywood. Smoke drifted across the ceiling, the scent curling into his nose. Not good.
“Come on. Come on,” he murmured.
“Got it. There is a backdoor for that model.”
When she paused, he said, “What is it?”
“You found my Auntie Elma’s carnival glass vase after she got robbed.”
And neither TJ nor her aunt had been able to pay him for his services. Which had been fine with him. Auntie Elma had treated him like family, and having little to none of his own, he’d been more than happy to track down the vase for free. But TJ didn’t want charity and demanded she pay him back with a favor, at which point she’d divulged her “special ability” in regard to the Internet.
“Yes, TJ. We’re square. Now what’s the number?” He tapped in the long sequence of numbers as she recited them over the line.
The safe opened.
“I’m in.” Relief washed through him. “Thank you.”
“Later.”
The call ended.
Carter peered inside safe then drew out folders and envelopes, lockboxes and a box of DVDs with names and dates neatly printed on the front. Looks like Randall has been a busy boy.
And cold hard cash. Good Lord, the guy had thousands of dollars sitting in there.
With all the files and DVDs, seems Randall has a penchant for blackmail. Wondered how he could afford such swanky digs.
Carter brought out his pick set again and opened a slender lockbox. Inside lay a simple black velvet case. When he lifted the lid, the ivory and black fire opal cameo winked at him. Bingo.
After closing the lid and tucking the case into his pack, he returned everything else to the safe. As he turned to make his exit, heat brazed his face. Fire ravaged the far end of the room.
Crrr-thunk!
A painting fell off the wall, toppling onto a wingback chair below it. Sparks dashed into the air. Looked like the whole place would burn to the ground. No doubt Randall had insurance to cover the incident, but all the blackmail files and DVDs and cash would go up in flames—especially if Carter accidentally left the safe open. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
Problem was the fire blocked the doorway. He needed another exit. Crossing the room, he opened a French door, stepped out onto the small balcony, and peered over the edge. Long way down to bushes and grass. Could he survive the jump? Sure. But probably not without injury.
He went back inside, heat branding his face. The fire roared—the infusion of outside air feeding the flames. Time to go.
He yanked down the thick curtains flanking the door, tied the ends together then secured it to the balustrade. After giving his makeshift rope a firm tug, he crawled over the railing and prayed to God it would hold him. A few tense moments later, he dropped to the ground.
He hurried to the wall, and when he reached the top, he paused to glance back at the house. Flames devoured the place. It’d be a total write-off.
After slipping down the other side of the wall, Carter made his way to his Harley and took off, forcing himself to be extra alert as he rocketed down the twisty narrow trails. It wasn’t long before he rolled down Cedar Valley’s main street.
Next stop—Jessica Park
er. To hand over the heirloom necklace.
Chapter Fourteen
Brigit hurried to Carter’s cabin. Yes, it was late, but the fire had at last been put out, and she wanted nothing more than a shower and to fall into his arms—or maybe both at the same time. The idea overrode her exhaustion as she pulled her Jeep to a stop, got out, and climbed the porch steps.
She knocked on the door.
It swung open. She pushed it a little farther.
“Carter?”
No answer. Darkness filled the cabin. She reached inside and flicked on the light.
“Carter?” Maybe he went out?
She wandered inside, her good mood dimming. Everything seemed “cleaner” than usual, wiped down and straightened. When she entered the bedroom, her heart dropped to her stomach. The closet door stood open, the inside empty. A quick peek in the bathroom confirmed her suspicion. He’s gone.
She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, tapped the screen then held it to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Jessica. Sorry to call so late.” She glanced at her watch—6:00 a.m. “I mean early.”
“No problem. Is something wrong?” Her sleepy voice held concern.
“No. Well, other than the huge fire we had up here. Lost several houses, a lot of acres, but we finally stopped it.”
“That’s horrible. I saw some of it on the news. Your brother and I were worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” Everything but my heart is anyway. She closed her eyes and shoved her fingers through her hair. “I, uh, was wondering if Carter made it to you okay.” She swallowed, praying he’d just gone out for breakfast and not out of her life.
“Yes. He did.”
“Oh.” Pain speared her lungs. “So he, uh, got the necklace to you.”
“He did. And the client was thrilled when I called her.”
“Good.” She managed a shaky breath. “That’s good. Okay, well, I gotta hit the sack. Thanks, Jessica.” She ended the call.
He’s gone.
One day passed. Two days. Five.
She sat on the couch, a half-gallon of ice cream on one side of her, a box of tissues on the other. It had almost been a week, and she hadn’t seen or heard anything about Carter. He just disappeared.
No, he did exactly what he said he would. He went back to Tampa.
She shoved another spoonful of Chunky Monkey ice cream into her mouth. Left so fast he couldn’t even bother with a note. Or a good-bye phone call. Or a stupid text.
Tears filled her eyes. What did I do wrong?
Brij, the only stupid thing you did was not taking him at his word. He said he would leave after the job was done, and he did. He never lied to you.
And she’d accepted him on those terms—though she’d hoped once they’d had time to talk, they’d be able to find a way to be together. The one thing she hadn’t counted on? How bad her heart would ache.
***
Aquarius: You’ve been wrestling with your feelings for quite a while, and though you think you know what is right, your head eclipses your heart, standing between you and happiness. For the next week, Pluto will be in your 8th house, dealing with your heart’s desires, but as it completes its transit, its exit offers the possibilities of death or rebirth. Leave logic behind and open your heart. True intimacy may at last be within your reach. But if you close yourself off, it may be lost forever. As actor, producer, and one of the most popular and influential musical artists of the 20th century, Frank Sinatra,said,“The big lesson in life, baby, is never be scared of anyone or anything.”
Brigit sighed and stuffed her phone into her pocket. Damn Pluto. In front of her, the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport luggage carousel came to life and bags slipped down the conveyor. She grabbed her suitcase, extended the handle, and pulled it behind her, heading toward the exit. The firefighter training she’d scheduled two weeks ago would distract her—and thank God because she was damn tired of feeling sorry for herself. And if that didn’t work, she’d take Jax Mallory up on his offer and let him and Skye show her around Dallas.
She called Kat to let her know she’d made it, and to let Aiden know she was fine. When her sister skirted the Carter topic, Brigit told her she didn’t want to talk about it. After one more attempt to meddle, Kat took the hint and changed the subject. Her sister was smart, and Brigit had no doubt she’d figure out what happened—she just didn’t want to discuss it.
The week passed at a sluggish rate. Unfortunately, any downtime the instructors allowed gave her time to remember. To distract herself, she called her grandfather and told him about Randall.
“So, Sara got her necklace back,” she said. “And we have no proof Randall did anything illegal.”
“But he gave it to his new fiancée first. That’s downright dirty. Any man who would do something like that isn’t a man I want at my station.”
“What are you going to do?” She tightened her grip on her cell phone. “You can’t say anything to him. He thinks the cameo was destroyed when his house burned down.”
“I won’t say a word. But don’t you worry,” he growled. “He’ll decide to leave the station all on his own.”
When at last she landed at Sacramento International Airport seven days later, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Home.
The plan? Get back to a routine and bury herself in work. Her stupid horoscope kept replaying in her mind, and she managed to find a thin connection between what it said and what was happening in her life. Okay, maybe not so thin. Regardless, she knew where her heart lay, and that was with flying her helicopter and fighting fires. So, she would choose rebirth and move forward, and maybe talk to Granddad about employing some of the new techniques she’d learned in Dallas.
She would smile and pick up the pieces. It was the only real choice in front of her. Fake it till you make it.
She waited for the luggage carousel to burp up her suitcase. While she watched, her mind wandered back to last night when she’d laid, sleepless, in her hotel bed. Again, she’d replayed the last fire she’d fought in Cedar Valley—and the last day she’d kissed Carter. But then she’d thought about other fires they’d had in the area. The incidents had been way higher than previous years, and this year hadn’t been any drier than those. So why all the burned acres? Did they have a firebug on their hands? If so, that could be dangerous.
As she grabbed her bag, she made a mental note to talk to her grandfather about it and review all the reports. There might be a connection. An hour later, she stood on her porch, unlocked her door, and went inside, dragging her suitcase in behind her.
“Did you have a good flight?”
She stumbled to a stop. “C-Carter.”
He stepped toward her, and everything inside her trembled with desire. He came back. She wanted to leap into his arms, but, instead, she let her hurt and anger take the lead and threw her shoulders back. “Why are you here?”
“To see you.”
Damn him. “So you just thought you’d show up after vanishing without leaving a note or text to say ‘Thanks for the sex’? What did you think would happen? I’d fall at your feet?” She gave a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, not likely.”
Big fat liar. If he kissed me right now, I’d be a puddle on the floor.
“I see you had no trouble breaking in. Seems to be a habit of yours.” She narrowed her eyes, doing her best to look pissed. “How did you even know I was here?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Jessica told me.”
Yeah, by way of Kat and Aiden. They knew her schedule, where she was, what she’d been doing, and when she’d be home. Kat had even offered to meet her for dinner, but Brigit knew she’d already planned some kind of special day with Dante. No way she’d ask her to give that up.
“Yeah, well.” She marched past him, but he grabbed her upper arms and hauled her against his wonderfully hard chest.
“I came back, Brigit.” His rough voice swept through her; his long fin
gers branded her skin. Bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers.
Everything inside her turned to jelly. She molded against him, drawing in his heat, his strength, his desire. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, and her body whispered for her to open for him, to give over, to accept the pleasure only he could give her.
No.
Setting her palms against his chest, she shoved away from him. “No.”
His gaze crashed with hers, lust swirling in his sexy dark stare. “Brigit.”
He growled her name, the sound filled with possession.
She lifted her chin. “Carter.”
He pulled his shirt off over his head, the muscular planes sculpting his chest and abs mesmerizing her. He stepped toward her. His scent surrounded her—earthy, untamed, and all male.
Abandoning her suitcase, she backed up. “No. We can’t have sex.”
“Why not?” Grinning, he reached down and unfastened his belt, lowered his zipper, and inched his jeans over his hips. “We both want it.”
Her gaze dipped, following the progression of his undress. Oh my. He went commando. She licked her lips then forced her attention to his face, steeling her resolve. “No.”
He lifted an eyebrow, doubt filling his wolfish brown stare.
“We need to talk. I’ll make coffee.” She pointed at him. “You get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, she returned to the living room, two mugs of coffee in hand. He looked up at her from where he sat on the couch—fully dressed again. As she passed a cup to him, his fingers brushed hers, and the memory of how he made her body sing filled her mind. A deep tremor set her nerves twanging.
Dallas Fire & Rescue: Lighting His Fire (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 5) Page 9
